Reign of Red

Chapter One: Prologue

A/N:

If you know me and my work, then you know that I normally save author's notes for the end of each chapter, but I feel this story calls for a few brief comments.

First of all, this takes place in a universe somewhat historically similar to feudal Japan; however, it still retains several themes from Kishimoto's canon universe. For future reference, tengu are supernatural creatures of Japanese folklore; they are sometimes described as being bird-like in appearance.

Be also forewarned; there will be SasuSaku and it will be mature.

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The moon hung suspended in the night sky, a pearl of iridescence eclipsed by dim cloud and shadow.

A foreboding silence deafened the wild terrain, until Uchiha Shisui came crashing through the foliage and down the steep hillside.

Crisp night air rushed passed the young man and slid frigid fingers through his hair. Raw pain coursed through his lungs, lungs that heaved under the effort of the rapid, shadow-like flicker of the ninja's frantic pace. Fear gripped his heart as flood after flood of adrenaline coursed through him. He rushed through the knee-high grass with all the hastening of one with the bloodthirsty hounds of hell at his heels. His wounds stung and dried blood itched along his hairline, but he granted neither of these distractions any mind.

There was little other sound, no light except from above.

Please.

The thought was but a rasp of desperation in his mind. He continued on, heart clenching, head pounding.

Please, don't let me be too late.

A midnight raven shrieked down from above, and Shisui pushed himself to run faster—he could never seem to run fast enough, no matter how rapid his pace. Damn it all, they called him the "Body Flicker," so why could he never seem to run fast enough?

But then it was there, towering high before him.

Ancient and sanguine in color, the temple presented a most foreboding sight. But to the harried Uchiha it was little but an obstacle. Stumbling in his exhaustion, he pushed at the large scarlet doors. The uchiwa fan painted on the wood split down the center as the doors yielded beneath Shisui's hands. His feet felt heavy, but he could not afford to slow down. It seemed impossible that he could feel weaker than he did now, but the sickening sight that welcomed him expelled all of the air from his body.

A large expanse of bamboo flooring led down to the stone monument at the head of the temple grounds, its floor muddled by garlands upon garlands of bloody blossoms and verdant leaves. Their unsettling color foreshadowed the gruesome sight that awaited him in the room just behind the temple stone, where real blood stained the floor. Crimson splatter smeared the panels of the once sacred building, filling the surrounding air with the acrid stench of iron.

He was too late.

Smothered coughs could be heard deeper inside the temple. Shisui ran towards the sound, heart soaring—before sinking like the same lead in his legs when he came upon the source.

"Itachi!"

He, the noble heir of the Uchiha clan, lay prostrate in a battered heap amidst the rubble. Shisui felt his eyes water; out of every surface in the entire damned battle site, his best friend's body was the last place he wanted to see blood. That hideous red stain with its stench and implications—it was necessary for life, but at this volume outside the body, it was little more than a harbinger of death.

"Itachi," his voice cracked. He knelt at the side of his dearest friend, pressed a tremulous hand to Itachi's sweaty forehead, "we've got to get you out of here. Maybe I can get you to a medic—"

"No, Shisui," his voice, once smooth and deep, emerged raspy and hoarse as blood flooded his lungs with each exhale.

Stubborn, Shisui shook his head. He slipped his forearm beneath Itachi's neck and propped him up against his own chest. Only pure adrenaline was holding back his tears, "Don't talk anymore, Itachi."

Itachi opened his mouth to speak, but was overcome almost immediately by the violent urge to cough. Droplets of his blood splattered on the stone wall with each hack before he managed to stop, "You need to take care of my . . . of my brother. If the others can't . . . if . . . if they fail as I have failed . . ."

"You haven't failed, cousin. You never fail," Shisui whispered wistfully, "but the clan's gone, Itachi. All of them, slaughtered like criminals. And-and Sasuke's so young. . . . Itachi, he needs you."

A sad, sad smile weakly graced the heir's lips; his eyelids grew heavier, almost as heavy as his labored breathing, "You . . . will be . . . everything Sasuke needs. Tell him . . . tell him to reign well . . . in . . . in my stead." Then he fell limp, torso descending slowly from Shisui's chest until he lay supine upon his back once more.

And then the dam broke. Shisui, despite his best efforts, cried bitterly. Silent, agonized, pained sobs. They wrenched at his grieving soul from the inside, as he fell forward, forehead falling onto his best friend's still chest. He wanted to deny it, to deny what he knew to be true; he wanted so badly to raise his head, to glance up and know that Itachi would be looking back at him with that gaze of calm, kind wisdom.

But those dark eyes had closed forever.

"Itachi," he whispered. He grasped the armored, once-strong shoulders and shook them, "wake up, Itachi. Won't you wake up?"

Hot tears streamed from his cheek, dripped off the bridge of his nose and from his chin. He knew very well that he would receive no answer. But it did not bleed the agony out of the silence.

Ten Years Later

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Uchiha Sasuke threw down his tengu mask with a withering sigh and slumped against the side of the shrine. He had barely removed his black gloves, taking care to avoid the metal claws at each finger, when footsteps rounded the corner. Despite the darkness, however, there was no need to ask for the newcomer's identity. He knew who it was, and ventured a greeting that fell unheeded and just as cold as the words themselves.

"Already back from the police station, I see. I'm surprised they were willing to wait before throwing me in the dungeons."

"You can cast the blame only upon yourself."

Sasuke sighed, "They don't know it's me, Shisui."

"But they do suspect you, and they'll be after you until they do get you in those dungeons. Or worse. Don't make me lie for you again."

Turning away from the reprimanding glare of his cousin, Sasuke suppressed the snarl that built up deep inside his chest and looked out into the night. The dark expanse rolled out over miles of capacious mountains, each hill cloaked in the verdant denseness of towering trees. A lantern hung over the engawa. Overhead, the eaves of the temple roof cast a wraithlike line of shadow that divided the darkness from the soft light.

Sasuke made a point to ignore both his elder and the stream of blood that slid precariously from his sliced shoulder and down his arm, until it halted at his wrist bone and fell, drop by crimson drop, onto the slick bamboo beneath him. His ninjatō, still unsheathed and slickened with another's blood, lay beside him.

"They attacked me first. I wouldn't have bothered otherwise."

But Shisui refused to relinquish his stern expression, "Because you were trespassing like a common thief."

"I was defending myself, and I'm only taking back what is ours," lips pursed, Sasuke turned away. "They'll pay for what they did. Every last one."

Sighing, Shisui moved from the shoji screen and entered the crisp air outside. His frustration slowly dissipated to be replaced by fondness. It was difficult to stay angry with his best friend's little brother. Now this conversation was only making him depressed.

Moonlight glinted off of Sasuke's blade as each footstep brought Shisui closer and closer. The blood seemed to burn like vermillion fire on the metallic surface, sickening in its intrigue. Slight nausea—along with a vicious pang of guilt not nearly as slight—rose like a rushing tide in the pit of his stomach.

His dark eyes turned from the weapon and instead focused upon Sasuke's profile. His face was veiled in shadow. The play of darkness and lantern light emphasized the sharp lines of his angular features, the anger that tightened the skin around his eyes. Shisui could clearly see that the young man's ire was mounting with each breath, despite the apparent casualness in his reclined posture, and so he waited for the inevitable confrontation.

Their relationship had long been this way, painful and broken. Ever since—

"How can you possibly remain so calm . . ."

Shisui started at the harsh hiss in Sasuke's tone. He had expected anger, but not this much contempt. It wreaked of personal disdain, and it was aimed right at him.

He straightened in preparation for the conflict, "Because it is right, Sasuke."

Sasuke's posture also stiffened, and he turned his head sharply back in the direction of his cousin. "What is right," he spat, "is killing every single one of those cowards," his hand darted out and slammed his sword into the floorboards. The blade splintered into the wood with a sickening crack. "I'll go back until I finish what I set out to do. I'll get the deeds back, and if those bastards get in my way . . ."

"No, you won't. How many times do I have to tell you to be patient—"

"Patient?" Sasuke seethed through clenched teeth, "Only a coward would be patient for ten years—"

"Watch it, Sasuke. I have spent most of those ten years trying not to give them an excuse to kill the two of us as well."

"Tch."

Shisui closed his eyes, counted for five breaths to calm himself before he dared answer that callous accusation, "Your brother asked me to protect you, not to enact vengeance on his behalf, and that's what I intend to do. Even if I have to beat you until you listen. If you continue on like this, you're only going to get yourself executed. Kakashi has great power in the Hokage's court, but even he can only intercede on your behalf for so long. Do not make me ask him for any more favors. . . . Understand?"

Sasuke's shoulders slumped forward. It was as if the extent of his failure, his failure to redeem both his brother's name and their family's honor, suddenly weighed down upon him with all of its bitter gravity.

"I know why you're doing this," Shisui continued. His voice had softened considerably from his earlier rebuke, "but hiding behind a demon's mask and turning vigilante will get us nowhere. We're the last ones left, Sasuke. We cannot afford to be brash." He stepped forward until he was close enough to place a hand atop his cousin's downturned head, "Itachi would not want you to become a criminal on his behalf. And he certainly would not want you to tempt vengeance down upon those that killed him, no matter how much they deserve it. . . . Killing Danzo without proof that he organized the massacre is only a death sentence for yourself. We have to wait for the right time—even if it takes us another ten years."

Suddenly, Sasuke stiffened. He pushed Shisui away and jumped to his feet. Without a single farewell, he turned and stormed up the mountain towards the ancient Uchiha compound. Deep in his chest, Shisui sighed; tired eyes closed in resignation as raindrops began pelting the roof of the small shrine. It seemed as if even the engawa lantern was struggling to fight off the night, little but a flicker amidst this smothering darkness.

How similar hope is to that weak flicker.

He bent down and picked up his cousin's mask, watched in morbid fascination as the dim light revealed bird-like features, the ominous black porcelain that extended in a man-sized raven's beak over the mask wearer's mouth.

Itachi, Shisui thought, still hidden within the shadowy eaves of the house, I wish you were still here. I wish you had not died and left Sasuke still so young and hurting . . .

And me, he closed his eyes forlornly, what of me, cousin? I am but an inadequate replacement for your guidance. Sasuke has become so bitter, and I hold absolutely no sway over him.

Causing an eerie shiver to crawl up Shisui's back, a hawk screamed somewhere in the distance and only served to heighten the anxiety of the Uchiha's mind. This was not a good sign—that the rain would interrupt the rest of some hawk that, at this time of night, should be prone in slumber.

His little cousin was destroying himself from the inside. Something had to be done. He needed help.

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Haruno Sakura watched the verdant terrain of trees and mountains roll passed her window. The small palanquin provided for an uncomfortable journey, but she supposed it was better than traveling the distance on foot. Still unsure of her own emotions, she propped her chin on her hand with a sigh of open remorse.

She was to be married in four days.

Unfortunately, she had never met the man; her merchant father had arranged the union when she was little but a toddler. She was certain, however, that her future groom could not be all that bad. If not considerate or gentle, perhaps he would be honorable, at least. Truly, all she knew about him was the extent of his wealth. And his name.

. . . Yakushi Kabuto.

She felt unprepared for married life. At the very least, she hoped that this Kabuto would allow her to train whenever she wished to after their marriage. Some men did not like for their wives to remain active shinobi; she hoped he would not be one of them.

It had been at least six years since she had last seen Konohagakure, for her father had sent her away when she was only twelve years old to study shinobi medicine under Tsunade, a respect war hero and a descendant of the revered Senju clan. Her parents had come to visit her once every year during her absence, but it had been a long time since she had strolled beneath the cool shade of Fire Country's forests.

Suddenly, one of the four men who carried the bamboo poles of the palanquin called back to her, "Sakura-san?"

"Oh—um, yes? What is it?"

Without looking back, the burly man ducked and hoisted the pole onto his other shoulder, "It looks like the sun will be setting in a few hours. The Tokida Onsen is the only inn we will pass on the way to Konoha. Shall we stop there for the night?"

"Yes, that would be fine," Sakura leaned forward and pushed aside the curtain in the front window, "but are you sure you don't want me to get out and walk the rest of the way? You've been carrying me most of the day and I'm afraid I might be too heavy—"

"Believe me, Sakura-san, it's not a problem. Your father gave us strict orders to make sure you don't exert yourself," even from behind, the kunoichi could see the small smirk on his face. He turned to the man next to him and muttered under his breath. "As if she could be too heavy . . . she's smaller than a kitten."

"Yeah—with the temper of a hell-cat."

Both men bellowed loudly with laughter, no longer concerned that she might hear them. True to their assessment, however, Sakura crossed her arms and leaned back with an angry huff. She had only tried to be thoughtful for their sakes, but she supposed her reputation was not completely unearned. With the power and knowledge of an accomplished medic, however, her temper had demurred a little. Now she only lacked patience when people harmed those she loved, or when it came to those with especially idiotic tendencies.

Like Naruto.

A bright smile blossomed across her pretty features at the thought of her dear friend. She heard that he too had left Konoha, soon after she left for Iwa, and went to study with Jiraiya-sama, another respected war hero and also a writer of novels—if one could even call those trashy things novels. The kunoichi flinched. Out of the kindness of his overwrought heart, Naruto had sent her an autographed sample of one of those very books; Sakura still could not banish the image of that racy Icha Icha cover from her mind.

Still, Naruto had managed to return to Konohagakure much sooner than she had. She was excited for the reunion, since it had been about a year since she had seen him last. He had visited her twice in Iwa, but both times she had been met with bitter disappointment when he showed up alone and without their other teammate.

Uchiha Sasuke . . .

Her mood dropped considerably at the mere thought of his name. She wondered how he was feeling, what he was doing, yet part of her dreaded it. She had not seen him in so very long, but she would never forget him. How could she?

It seemed that he had walked around with an unspoken death wish, with a glint of anguish in his dark gaze that spoke of pain she could not even imagine, given her typical and comfortable upbringing. And it was no wonder when one considered his past.

Sakura had been only eight years old the night Konoha's authorities almost wiped out the entire Uchiha clan. Too young to understand the political implications of the massacre, she knew very few of the details, except that Danzō had declared the Uchiha to be part of a scheme to overthrow the regional Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, who reigned over Fire Country. No one had thought much of these allegations, including Sarutobi himself, for the Uchiha were widely respected.

Then one night someone broke into the Hokage's bedroom and almost killed him in his sleep. Before the assailant escaped, leaving the Hokage in a pool of his own blood, Sarutobi had opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of the man that had intended to murder him—including, unfortunately, what appeared to be a red and white uchiwa fan brandishing the back of the intruder's cloak.

The elders sprang at the opportunity like a pack of rabid wolves. While recovering from his wounds, Sarutobi was able to do little to overrule the Council's decisions. They went against his wishes, brought blood and death with every decision.

It had happened in waves.

First, the elders orchestrated a systematic raid on several Uchiha properties throughout Fire. Many had been killed in the process. This was then followed by the assassination of Uchiha Fugaku, the leader of the Uchiha clan . . . and Sasuke's father. As heir, Uchiha Itachi had taken his father's place and organized a counterattack. The young man detested violence, but had not been willing to risk seeing his people harmed.

Several battles had followed over the course of two months. Though Danzō's men more than outnumbered the Uchiha's own warriors, they were unbelievably skilled in battle and refused to be defeated easily. In a final attempt of desperation, Danzō had enlisted the aid of two war criminals: Orochimaru and Uchiha Madara, who carried a great hatred towards his brethren, for they had aided the authorities in arresting him for his treason and treachery during the last war.

That final battle had raged long and bloody, had stretched on for several days until Konoha feared that war might break out with the other villages once they learned of this internal weakness. The site of this assault soon became known as the Siege at the Temple.

Madara was killed during the battle.

But so was Itachi.

Only Uchiha Shisui, whose team had been ambushed after stealing Sasuke away to safety, had survived.

In the ten years following these events, much speculation had risen amongst the villages regarding the legitimacy of these battles. Some called it a rightful execution.

Others called it a massacre.

Nevertheless, it was a disaster for the Uchiha. Their land was taken, their respected name desecrated.

And it was with this injustice burning along the length of his spine that Sasuke had grown up. Sakura remembered that he had once been a content child, gentle and thoughtful despite his aloofness. But that night changed him for obvious reasons, made him embrace hatred and dark thoughts of vengeance.

Honestly, Sakura was surprised that Naruto had not yet written her a letter while she was away, telling her of Sasuke's death. She hated the thought, but all those years ago she had left the village in tears, convinced that Sasuke was going to get himself killed before she would ever see him again.

And yet, if he was still alive, where was he? What was he doing?

Propping her elbow on the edge of the palanquin window, she gazed out into the waning sunlight and thought of happier times.

She had been nine years old when Kakashi had accepted her as one of his students, to whom he diligently—somewhat hesitantly, really—imparted the art of ninjutsu, along with Sasuke, Naruto, and Sai. This had been one year after Sasuke lost his family, one year since she had seen him as a child with average affect, happy despite his reclusive nature, and eager to experience the immediate future.

She had been shocked when she had finally seen him, waiting for the rest of their group beneath the low-sweeping branches of their meeting place. His dull eyes had stared transfixed at nothing over the bridge railing, dull and empty. Sakura had been unable to—unwilling to—recognize him as the same person.

Truly, though, he was not the same. Thus her feelings for him, already different than a child's normal regard for another, rooted profoundly deeper. Even then, even as the more unsavory aspects of his altered character—his tenacity to defeat, his unquenchable lust for power and knowledge—had emerged, her sentiments only clung tighter with strained, white-knuckled fingers. And, as with any strained appendage, they grew stronger in the process, and their grip turned loyal and resolute 'til no persuasion could pry those abstract fingers loose.

She wanted only goodness for her former teammate, even at the cost of her own security.

No sentiment can boast of this but that fervor-laden sentiment, so simple yet so fathomless that she could not bring herself to utter it, even within the private realm of her own thoughts.

Perhaps it would be easy to lay this source down at the feet of mere stupidity or obsession, for she had considered both. But neither of these possess such pure loyalty and dedication, a self-sacrificial willingness to witness the thriving of another. There could be no denying what it was.

Even Sakura's father had noticed it, and so this was his real reason for sending Sakura away when she was twelve, three years ahead of their previous plans.

Had the passing years worn her longings down to nonexistence, which was surely what her father had intended to happen?

Sakura did not know. And she preferred not to think on it, for perhaps she already sensed the answer brimming in anguish beneath the surface of her memories.

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"So, we gonna go through with this, or what?" Hōzuki Suigetsu, well-known thief and swordsman from Kirigakure, sucked impatiently at his teeth. He had yet to track down a decent meal all day and was eager to get this over with so he could get his money. "Look, Sasuke, I haven't got all night. Why don't you just pay me and we'll do this some other time? I'm starving."

"I will pay you when you complete your job," Sasuke's voice barely filtered through the raven mask that covered the lower half of his face. His gaze peered ominously over the black satin strap, taking in the layout of the building that lay before them through the tightly-clustered trees.

Suigetsu cursed and turned to the large man standing placidly on watch next to him, "Can you believe this shit, Jūgo? He sends us all the way out here for another job, then spends the entire night scoping the outside. I say let's go for it, already."

Jūgo shrugged, "I trust that Sasuke knows what he is doing."

The sound of hoof beats overtook the chirping of crickets, and all three men turned towards the stables. A number of regally dressed customers, two women and five men, left the inn and headed for the stables. Five guards emerged to meet them, leading a total of twelve horses. None of them carried baggage, indicating that they intended to return to the inn to retrieve their belongings later. The group left the inn on horseback, leaving behind only silence and disturbed earth.

Sasuke's eyes grew hard as he watched them leave, "Let's go."

"Now, that's what I'm talking about," a sinister grin overtook Suigetsu's features. Before he could tear off towards the inn, however, a firm hand gripped his shoulder. When he looked behind him, Sasuke glared back.

"Remember what I told you. Do not alert anyone to your presence. I don't want any blood shed like last time."

The swordsman sneered, "Sure thing, captain."

The trio moved stealthily down the ridge and through the trees, little but shadows in the undergrowth. It proved all too easy to cross the bridge without a sound and swiftly overtake the engawa. They sidled against the wall nearest the entrance and stopped to listen for movement.

Sasuke inclined his head to the back of the building, his eyes communicating a silent order. Nodding in understanding, Suigetsu and Jūgo turned to hasten ahead of him towards the rear. It would be easy enough to jump over the wall. The Uchiha wanted to be out of there by midnight, so they had to move quickly. The caravan of officials would be back soon.

For a moment, a brief and inconvenient moment, he thought guiltily about Shisui, who had gone into the village to drink with Kakashi. He shook his head and scanned the vicinity for sentry guards. It was not wise to think about his cousin right now.

Over the entrance, a wooden sign swayed with each evening gust. Before Sasuke followed his comrades around the back of the inn, he glanced warily at the name engraved into the sign.

Tokida Onsen.

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A/N:

I am beyond excited for this story, despite the fact that it seems to be demanding more research and creative license on my part than I previously thought. I hope you're excited too, my readers, and that you enjoyed this first chapter.

By the way, Kishimoto never states that Itachi and Shisui are cousins, just that they're as close as brothers. For the sake of this story, however, I will contend that they are cousins—or might as well be cousins, at least. In any case, they are related.

And if you're waiting for a new chapter of "Atrophy," don't worry; it's on its ever-loving way. I promise.

Please, do review!